• The term “mompreneur”. It’s just . . . argh. Listen, you run your own business? You’re an entrepreneur. Doesn’t matter if you have kids or if your products are marketed to parents. Knock it off with the wide-eyed amazement over the notion that a mother can put aside her all-encompassing household duties long enough to make some damn money.

• The never-ending staged photos of Heidi and Spencer, who apparently are on some show? About hills? All I know is that every sickening image I see of them makes me feel very very stabby, and really, I’m not normally a stabby sort of person.

• My laptop, which probably has something wrong with its cooling fan, because it is pan-searing my thighs every time I use it for more than ten minutes.

• The idea that you’re not a “real” writer until you get published. A writer is a person who writes. Full stop. The quality of anyone’s writing is completely subjective and having a book deal doesn’t necessarily make you a better writer than the person who fills paper journals that will never be read by another soul.

• Teeth. Fuck teeth, you know? They start out by making babies miserable little screamy drool machines, and if you’re like me they end up causing you to endure about fifty different orthodontic devices including HEADGEAR when you’re a hormonally wrecked teenager. We need to evolve past this calcified bullshit and develop the teeth version of LASIK. Zap zap, here’s your new perfectly designed mouth, go ahead and knock yourself out with a Bit-O-Honey.

• Stephen King inserting himself into the last Dark Tower book. See also: M. Night Shyamalan “acting” in his own movies.

• The unbelievable state of political correctness most of us are living in, and I hope you understand I am not saying I sure do miss all the RACISM, I’m just wondering if it’s possible to talk about ANYTHING anymore without stirring up controversy. On that note, I laughed like hell at Anne Lammot’s completely non-defensive explanation of choosing to circumcise her son and her subsequent description of thinking that uncut penises looked like “a rodent disappearing up a garden hose” and then I thought that anyone who wrote that today on, say, a parenting publication, would be TARRED AND FEATHERED. Look, I’m not saying she’s right, but that’s FUNNY.

• The taste of Coca-Cola Zero. Cloying, yet vomitous!

I was kind of worrying that since we had no particular plans for the holiday weekend that it would seem a little bit . . . oh, tedious, I guess. Three long days of kid-wrangling, with no relaxation to be found, stuck at home while everyone else cavorts around on their ski boats and stuff, wah wah. You know, because why just assume the glass is half empty, when you can also fret about whether or not it also contains a drowned spider?

Instead, it was a perfect sort of family weekend: lots of playing and working in the yard, a few local outings, and two mornings of slutting the bed until — O, I can barely type it with my still-trembling-with-pleasure fingers — 9 AM.

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I hope you had a good weekend too.

PS: For those of you who know a thing or two about running, I could use some advice. I’ve started jogging around our neighborhood again, spending about 45 minutes at a time. Right now I’m doing about a 50/50 mix of running/walking, but I try and work in some short sprints, and runs up steep hills. Which then KILLS ME DEAD, so I walk longer afterwards. So! In order to improve my fitness level, would you recommend trying to run longer intervals, even if I have to jog really really slow to avoid total lung collapse — or is it better to keep trying to run harder, for shorter intervals (which hopefully become longer intervals)?

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